Sherlock the Alpha
by DannyPhantomOfTheAvatar
Summary: Sherlock's an alpha, "So, why am I going into heat?" First try omegaverse. Pushes m rating at end, so VIEWER DISCRETION!


Sherlock's an alpha. "So, why am I going into heat?"

He paces, encircling the entirety of the flat trice a time before John puts a hand to stop him. "Don't touch me!" Sherlock warns, slapping the tired appendage away.

John's face, which is slumped looking downward at his own guilt, finally nods up. "Stop running around, you're just wafting your scent on everything." His arms rolling up, defensive.

The so-called genius steps forward a floor tile towards him, squinting. "Even you?"

And John Hamish Fucking Watson, being the true Alpha he is, has to recoup in his mind. Eyes wandering off just a split second, then, in a turn of unfortunate luck, he finds his wits again.

"Yes, Sherlock, even me."

Sherlock backs up, his trench coat he tore off himself earlier in a fit of sweat and need of relief, soon finds his hand again. "Then it's time for me to get going."

There's a dozen reasons John couldn't let him just go, and a thousand more he could. But, it's Sherlock, and he's going through a heat. So, the dozen rings loudest.

"Leave now and I will kill you." John warns, an eighth joking with him. Yet, the lanky sweaty confused man still shakily rakes his jacket on. Good Doctor John thinks of a better way to stop him, "You are the most idiotic man I have ever seen." The laugh in his voice and utter believity of his words make Sherlock halt with his hand to the doorhandle.

"Have a better plan, then?" He asks.

John laughs petily, "No, but anything is better than you going out there. The city is full of alpha's that take advantage of a scent like that, and you think a million of them is easier than one? Not to mention your own health. You've never had a heat! How many people could you throw yourself at tonight?"

They both sigh, then he finishes, "I'm going out and locking you in here." The 'foot down' being put.

Sherlock soaks it in. Being so sure of yourself all the time, knowing all the in's and out's. But this is new territory. "Alright, I'll stay." He resigns from the door, breathing heavier. John nods in agreement, "Good." And in a consecutive millisecond, Sherlock says, "Just don't ever call me what I am."

The undertoned 'omega' sits dormant between both sets of ears. John knows.

"I'll check on you every few hours. Hopefully it'll only last a couple or few days."

Days. Days. "I'll text you if I need to be checked on. Hudson can sense when to come up or not."

John nods at the new rules, "Let me just grab a few things."

The last thing John saw when he left was a confused, absolutely horny, genius with the knowledge of nearly a week on his hands. He didn't have to dwell on the thought of Sherlock having the choice to research this inevitable heat, or take care of it.

John left, staying at Mike's apartment while he was out teaching out of town. Not but three hours passed and his cell buzzed with a message.

_Come please -SH_

_But not inside. To the door. -SH_

John didn't know whether to laugh or be worried. He went nevertheless.

Upon opening the front door, the scent of Sherlock could knock anyone over. Not just John. He began ascending up the stairs, breathing in deeply, wondering how he got that strong so fast, or if it was like this before.

"Sherlock, i'm here" John knocked lightly on the door, unsure.

A grunt in reply, coming from the ground just on the other side. John guessed he was crawling. Then a light thump signaled Sherlock sat, his back facing the door. "I'm sorry, but I don't know why I texted you to come over."

That was bullshit. John called it. He may have never experienced a heat himself, but he's seen people go through it. College, the army... John called him out, but not aloud. Sherlock wanted him to make the adventure shorter, to lessen the weight. To have some sort of sex with him. Whatever sex with Sherlock would be.

To be honest, by hearing Sherlock's cracked voice, just brushing his hand over Sherlock zipper would do him over. If Sherlock was wearing trousers.

"I understand," John settled his words, kneeling down to copy Sherlock's sitting on the other side, "Do you need anything, or want to talk?"

Sherlock turns his head, voice a little louder, "I want to make this quick, because I don't want to be any hindrance to you." John doesn't reply. "But I've been reading." And Sherlock stops talking.

"Reading what? Did you find out why this is happening?" John asks.

Sherlock bumps his head against the door, "I sent you the links via email, it'd be safer if you left now and read them." John stands, let down by something inside of him, "And what are you going to do?"

Sherlock begins standing up, nails raking along the door as he does. He pauses. "Sleep it off."

.

John read the emails.

_Over exposure of soulmate alpha... Heat spurred on by genetic combination of beta and alpha... Lack of sex... Too much sex... Lack of..._

John stopped reading.

"Pointless facts. Why would he send me these?" He clicked the 'x' in the top right hand of the browser and leaned back in the chair. hands raking down his face. "I don't know his private life well enough to help him solve this."

He needed to call Sherlock, and he did. But three rings in and a voicemail later, John sent a text.

_Answer me. I don't care if you like texting better. -JW_

John dials up Sherlock again, floating in anguish.

"What." Sherlock's breathless voice whispers. He's crunching something loudly on the other end.

"What's that noise?" John asks. Then the crunching stops, "Crisps, I was hungry."

The doctor laughs at the simplicity. "Thank god. I was going to ask you how you're faring, but it seems you're taking your fill."

"My fill? Please. This has been the most tedious and mind numbing thing i've been through. I'm including my drug past, too." He coughs, "My bodies almost rejecting itself, but I guess you already know."

John sets the phone down, putting it on speaker while pulling another internet tab open. "I remember in high school, this girl I was seeing called my over for dinner once. Apparently her parents wanted to meet me..."

Sherlock catches onto small talk, "Why would I care about your highschool days?"

Yet John continues uninterrupted, "But her parents weren't there. Neither was her intimidating brother."

With his mouth going "ah", Sherlock gets where this is going.

"It was her first heat. She smelled like all heats did, and I didn't know that yet. I was drawn in. I open her door, and she's just-" He pauses a good moment, "There. Not until later did I realize that she was in pain, wanting to get it over with, and she chose me. If I was her boyfriend at the time or not."

John kept typing while he spoke, looking at the phone as if it were Sherlock. And Sherlock, who was processing what kind of metaphor John implied, did the same.

"So, you're saying." The genius rubs his thumb over the phone. "You're not, are you?" Truly confused, he was without a doubt, trying to connect John's girlfriend's heat experience, to his.

John grabs the phone, "I don't know. Maybe." Then ends the conversation, phone going black.

.

Waking up hours later, moon high in the sky, the bright screen shines on John's face. He yawns, placing himself back in Mike's apartment.

The screen reads: _Alpha control and exposure to Omega and Beta heats. _

"Damn."

He clicks the browser close one last time before standing, gathering his things. "Fucking Sherlock and his fucking heat and his fucking fuck." He couldn't take it, he was going back home.

.

Every single button was broken into, popped open, pale chest vividly exhaling and inhaling. He tried, moving his hand down and down a little furthur but it all hurt too much. From head to toe his body was swollen, waiting, every movement bringing him to a hault.

The farthest he got was unzipping his trousers, his nearly soaked trousers. God he didn't want to think what they were soaked in. He wasn't going to dilvulge in carnal nature, but mother of god how he pleaded to.

Untune fingers still slide hopelessly further, the ailment of his head's booming and tinging of discomfit. A sound at the door stops him, his head turning with mouth slagged ajar. It was a sudden noise, keys jinging, John.

His mind raced to shout and yell out, to protest, 'No, you can't.' But the creak of the old betraying hinges on the fucking door opened.

"I'm watching telly from my own television." John proclaims.

.

Sitting. A sense of privacy that's just not there. Sherlock still on the couch, hand where it was before, half way inched to a certain spot. A generous tent in those slacks that is cleverly hidden in the low light and black labeled jeans.

"Hi." One calls out short-winded.

"Yeah." The other replies bleak, somewhat starked.

Side by side. The telly blaring some rerun. A fog seemingly coming from only one mouth, filling the air. A bead of sweat balling down his temple, to bare chest.

"I should go to my room." The one speaks blown again, still shaking.

"It's fine." The other politely spills.

Telly commercial, ads. Clock ticking in the back. His hand moving again, up his stomach now, relieving from the heat and frostbite of it all. Nipples visibly perked. The thought. Thumb nicks hopefully unnoticed and accidentally at it's peak.

"Oh"

Thinking, 'oh no', removes hand from self, painful, body still swollen. Winces.

The other turns, "What was that?" Big eyes scratching over his pathetic body.

"Nothing"

Hair sticking to neck and forehead, hot, hands freezing. The other still turned looking, though. "Are you sure?"

Sherlock nods quick.

"Really? Because I was positive that you just moaned."

God. Fucking, "John." Hazy, dark spot of moisture pulling into visible light on jeans. And John's hand, so suddenly... grappling onto his thigh. It should hurt, but it's euphoric. Just the touch on his leg. Alpha scent breaking though own scent. Good, smells good.

"Yeah, it sounded like that."

Heat begins thudding like a car's horn before a crash. The indecisiveness of weight distribution of his hand and nails, digging sporatically harder in my leg. It moves, up, toward that place he wished he could just reach. Not for pleasure, but for plain relief.

But fucking this. This was for pleasure. Forgettable pleasure both would regret yet live in the moment for.

All the warning in John's eyes exploded from sight.

A pair, unknown as to whose, of lips seal quick to the other, hungry. Spit lingers between them, a tongue frictionlessly jumping to another mouth. Again, euphoric as euphoric gets.

Teeth sink into the flesh of lip, pulling, praying for more to bite.

Then the hands roam from a hairline to the undone trousers of a man. And they entangle, care eachother in this night of fetish. It's a favor, and easily forgotten. Both agree, unsaid, that it can be forgotten. The nudeness, closeness, sentiment that grew that night. Forgotten. "Forgotten." They say.

But Sherlock's an alpha. "John, remember that time I went into heat?"

.

**_AN: i kind of wished this to end in mpreg so the last line, 'in my funny mind', pushes toward an mpreg ending. this was my first omegaverse and i quite liked it, unless i'm a crap writer then no, i didn't. could be more if you liked, comment please it helps. love you all!_**


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